


Catharsis

by sunflowersailor



Series: sylvix week 2020 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arrested for Horny on Main, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Sylvix Week (Fire Emblem), Training, aka sylvain gets a boner but thats literally it lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowersailor/pseuds/sunflowersailor
Summary: For the sylvixweek2020 prompt: training/sparringSylvain has an existential crisis and attains enlightenment in the span of one sparring session.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: sylvix week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933477
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	Catharsis

Sylvain often asks himself if there’s a benefit to sparring.

A voice in his head that sounds vaguely like Dimitri answers  _ yes, obviously there are benefits and I wish you would take advantage of them instead of philandering _ . 

Sylvain, in favor of listening to his own voice, thinks of said benefits on his own without Dimitri’s exasperated tone haunting him at every turn. Better endurance, a chance to work on technique, the opportunity to learn new things. All are perfectly valid reasons to pick up a lance every now and again, if only for the small reprieve it grants him from listening to his friends chastise his work ethic.

But if he’s being completely honest with himself (which he’s been working on a lot more often ever since the professor had cast aside his mask and told him to shape up), none of those things even break the barrier to his subconscious most of the time. He’s spent the entire first half of his life honing those skills, starting even before he could put a pen to paper. During the academy days, every mandatory sparring session ended up being a piece of cake—with the exception of the ones against Dimitri, who really was way too strong for his own good anyway. But even now with the war hanging heavy on everyone’s shoulders, Sylvain still finds himself slacking off, much to the chagrin of the Blue Lions.

It’s for this reason that Felix had marched right up to his room, banged on his door (while he was still sleeping, give a guy a break) and more or less dragged him to the training grounds, insisting that it’s been too long since he’s trained, and without constant upkeep he’s bound to slip up, and that’ll be it.

Five years ago, Sylvain would have brushed off Felix’s concern (masqueraded as annoyance because he’s Felix) with a dazzling grin and a couple of well rehearsed reassurances. Maybe he’d give in a couple of times just to humor the other (except he knows full well it was actually because he’d wanted to spend time with him) but for the most part, he’d find any excuse he could to be anywhere but in a place with sweaty meatheads hellbent on growing stronger only to die the second a well timed attack threw them off balance.

But recently, Sylvain’s made a realization.

The war has been exhausting for all of them. Actually, that’s the understatement of the century, but dwelling on it too much only leads to unnecessary heartache. 

They’d only just recently found Dimitri alive after five years of swimming in a sea of uncertainties, which relieved and agitated the hell out of Felix. His method of stress relief led him to extra time training, hacking and slashing his anxiety onto the poor training dummies. At first glance, this was a win-win situation for Sylvain. Felix got to release pent up stress, and Sylvain could bask in the reward of one less person bugging him about taking his training seriously.

That was his logic, until his instinct to protect the professor in battle nearly became the last thing he’d ever done.

Felix’s face, scrunched up with more hurt and anger than Sylvain had ever seen in his life was enough to get him to wake up to a realization: if he didn’t shape up now, Felix would be left alone. He’d break their promise, and Felix would have to live the rest of his life without him. Felix had already told Sylvain—emphasized to him in the form of ranting, in fact—that he didn’t want that.

And who was Sylvain to say no to his best friend?

So he’d promised Felix he’d make the extra effort, if for the sake of keeping the other happy.

“Pick up your lance, we’re getting started as soon as I find a sword that isn’t about to break,” Felix huffs as he makes his way to the weapons rack. Sylvain watches as Felix rummages around, pulls out rusty and cracked swords, watches as he gets frustrated after putting each one back. The pout on his face only grows with each failure, and Sylvain can’t help but smile.

And that’s when his first problem becomes alarmingly apparent.

Felix’s pout was very cute when he was a child. Sylvain always had to fight the urge to pinch his chubby, rosy cheeks, lest he make Felix even more upset. But that fond memory isn’t the problem. It’s actually quite innocent compared to the real issue.

The problem is Felix’s pout is still cute, even now. And Sylvain wants to kiss him, instead of pinching his cheeks.

And Sylvain doesn’t just want to kiss him when he pouts either. Sylvain wants to kiss him when he can tell the other is fighting a smile at one of his jokes, wants to kiss him when he sits down to breakfast with him, wants to kiss him when he’s upset and uncertain about the future.

Sylvain wants to kiss him all the time.

And that’s not his only problem.

“Finally,” Felix breathes out in relief as he surveys a sword that isn’t too battle-worn. “Remind me to let the professor know that we need replacements in here.”

Felix turns toward the sidelines and shrugs off his jacket, revealing his arms—that are very well toned, were they always this toned?—then turns sharply to look at Sylvain. “Are you just going to sit there and look stupid or are you going to get your lance and join me?” he asks, tone laced with annoyance.

Sylvain breaks out of his trance (just what exactly was he staring at anyway? Certainly not Felix’s very well toned arms) picks his weapon up, and jogs over towards Felix. The rational part of his brain chastises him for not doing warm-ups while Felix was searching. The other part of his brain, the one that thinks about…  _ other _ things, is firing up a storm of synapses.

And this is how he becomes aware of his second problem.

They both get into position—Felix with the same determined glint in his eyes he always has before he’s about to strike that reminds Sylvain of a snake—and begin the match. Felix unleashes a whirlwind of slashes and Sylvain dodges all of them by the skin of his teeth, hardly getting a few jabs in himself. Part of this is because Sylvain just isn’t as agile on the ground as he is, and it takes him a bit of time to come up with a pattern to work with. 

But a bigger part is because he’s hopelessly distracted.

The first round concludes—a tie. Felix pulls back, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, breath coming out in short gasps. Sylvain soaks the sight in, treats it like gospel. His eyes make their way down, down, the other’s body. Felix has always worn his shirt tight, and right now Sylvain finds it to be a blessing (even though he  _ really  _ shouldn’t). The way it presses against him reveals a faint outline of abs, and if he looks really hard, he can see the other’s chest as it heaves up and down, pecs nearly bursting the seams (which should be illegal). His eyes continue to work their way down until they reach his legs. Felix’s boots go up to his thighs, a fact Sylvain has never been more grateful for in his life until this very moment. 

And oh, what he wouldn’t do to get those boots off of him. What he wouldn’t do to get his pants off-

The realization of what he’s doing now hits him square in the chest with the force of a Thoron blast. And only a second later does the problem take physical form as a deep burning sensation in his lower abdomen. And only a second after  _ that _ does the panic set in as he realizes a third problem.

Not only is he distracted, but he’s distracted by thoughts best friends definitely  _ do not  _ have about each other. He could write it off as extra testosterone brought on by the heat of fighting, but he knows himself agonizingly well, and that’s not the problem. And if he doesn’t fix the current problem  _ right now  _ Felix is definitely going to notice. And Felix will ask questions. Questions he’s not sure he can answer at this moment in time. And how could he answer them, when he’s only just now discovered that they’re a problem in the first place? He’d only just recently come to the conclusion that kissing Felix was something that he wanted to do, but this was going way too fast.

“Sylvain? Are you ready for the second round?”

“Ready any time!” is what’s forced out of his mouth before he can even really think about it. He curses the automatic response for kicking in and is about to tell Felix that he’s not ready—that he’s actually in the middle of a crisis, sorry I’m having an awakening, Felix—when Felix gets in his stance, and Sylvain realizes how quickly this is going downhill.

Instead, Sylvain sucks in a huge breath, holds it for a few seconds, then releases it slowly. He wills himself to think about literally anything else as he gets into position, and before he knows it, Felix is charging forward. Sylvain dodges by a hair and winces as he realizes his growing problem is making it hard to move properly. His footwork gets sloppier and sloppier the more he tries to fix the issue while also maintaining the facade that nothing is wrong, and this turns out to be his downfall. Felix lunges forward in a surprise attack, which misses but also sends Sylvain toppling to the ground.

And  _ oh dear Goddess  _ Felix is standing above him now, breath coming out in soft gasps, sword pointed at his neck.

And the problem is getting  _ so much worse _ .

Felix takes a step closer. “You’re distracted.”

And he  _ is  _ incredibly distracted. Congratulations to Felix for nearly figuring out how screwed he is, the prize is Sylvain’s humiliation. 

Felix takes another, smaller step forward, until the tip of his boot is less than an inch away from Sylvain’s lower half. He kneels down in front of Sylvain and squints at him in confusion.

Sylvain has never been one to pray. The Goddess has never given him the time of day before when he’s needed it, so he finds it to be useless to even try. But maybe he should’ve spent more time paying attention in choir lessons. Maybe he should’ve taken up Mercedes’ many offers to go to the altar. Maybe, if he had, he could call upon the Goddess right this moment to help him get rid of the fire that’s threatening to burn a hole right through his pants. Because the closer Felix steps—the more sweat gleams off of his face, the more his breathless form pants above him—the more Sylvain can feel the arousal so thick in the air it’s suffocating.

And he wants to hate Felix for not feeling any of this. He wants to get up, point an accusing finger in his face, ask him  _ why. _ Why is Sylvain the only one who is currently suffering? Why is he the only one who gets to have a crisis about his best friend in the middle of a war?

But hating Felix is counterproductive considering it’s not even his fault. More importantly than that, however, is Sylvain cannot hate Felix in the first place. It’s just simply not possible. Even if Felix had done something drastic like join Edelgard’s side, Sylvain could not find it in himself to hate him.

And that’s when he’s aware of his final problem.

Sylvain hates thinking about the future. It tortures him going through every single day knowing it could be any of their last. He’s accepted his own death already, he’d accepted it even long before he’d thrown himself in front of an enemy to protect the professor without a second thought. But thinking about anyone else he cared about dying was something that terrified him, something that made for day drinking and sleepless nights. More times than not, the person he thought about was Felix. 

Which means he isn’t just attracted to him because he’s attractive. Because he’s definitely attractive, as he’s finding out right now. But Felix is someone he holds closer than most, a treasure above all other gems. Felix is the one person who pushes him to stay alive, pushes him to become a better person. Felix believes in him more than his own flesh and blood parents do—he’s seen past the ugly, disgusting facade Sylvain puts up and reminds him that his crest doesn’t determine his worth. Felix’s cares are simple, he just wants to ensure that they can spend their lives together before death claims the both of them, before the sun sets on their tumultuous lives.

And if that doesn’t make Sylvain fall head over heels for him, he doesn’t know what will.

Falling, as it turns out, is just as anxiety inducing as Sylvain has always thought it’s been. Just how much will the landing hurt if the process itself is already painful? Is it worth it if every bone in his body will break when he hits the ground?

_ Yes  _ his mind shouts at him, as his eyes dart upward to see Felix’s eyebrows etched in concern. Yes, it is worth it. Because the truth is, no one has ever been able to make Sylvain feel the way Felix makes him feel. The truth is, Sylvain’s probably kept his feelings locked away for a longer time than he likes to admit. 

The truth is, he’s done hiding it.

Catharsis.

Sweet, sweet catharsis is what makes him act on his truth.

“Sylvain? What are-”

Sylvain’s hands move on autopilot, shooting up to grab Felix by his arms before yanking him down in one swift motion. Felix’s body now rests atop his, and he’s almost one hundred percent certain Felix can feel the problem in his pants, but he doesn’t care. He’s focused on Felix’s startled expression, on the way his wide eyes reflect his own half lidded ones right back at him. Sylvain’s gaze dips down to look at Felix’s slightly parted mouth. 

He wonders just how soft Felix’s lips are. Maybe he should find out.

In one slow motion, he brings his own face close to Felix’s, then bridges the gap between uncertainty and finality. The initial touch sends electricity throughout his body, and it’s simultaneously exciting and terrifying just how much he’s been yearning,  _ craving  _ this very moment.

And all too soon, he pulls away, and the electricity leaves as fast as it had been there. Because as much as he’d love to keep going—Goddess he’d give anything to keep going—he knows he has to stop. He has to give Felix time to process this. He has to give him the opportunity to get up and leave, because inevitably, this isn’t what Felix wants. As much as it hurts to think about, Sylvain has probably just crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

Except none of that actually happens. 

Before Sylvain knows it, the warmth of Felix’s mouth is back on him once more. Once more, Sylvain finds himself kissing his best friend, the one who has apparently liked him this entire time and has never bothered to mention it. Felix, who’s never even shown a single ounce of interest toward anyone else, is currently kissing him. Him! Him as in Sylvain Jose Gautier, who desperately needs to pinch his arm to remind himself that he’s not dreaming, that this is real.

All too soon Felix pulls back, and he’s even more breathless than he was before. A light pink dusts his cheeks, and his heavily lidded eyes are completely focused on Sylvain, who is just as breathless beneath him.

Sylvain huffs out a small laugh and brings one of his hands to cup Felix’s cheek. “Has anyone ever told you how attractive you are? It’s very distracting.”

Felix scoffs at that and rolls his eyes. “Clearly,” he replies as he reaches a calloused hand up to cover the one Sylvain has one his face, fingers slightly curling around Sylvain’s own. “But you chose a bad time to get distracted. Had this been a real battle, you’d be dead.”

Sylvain feels laughter bubble up in his chest, and he can’t help the elated grin that splits his face. It’s hard to believe just how utterly  _ Felix _ his response is. It’s hard to believe just how much he can imagine more moments like this happening between them in the future. Just him and Felix.  _ His _ Felix.

“C’mon Fe, this was supposed to be romantic!”

Felix cracks a smile at that, and Sylvain feels as if he’s floating. “We can make it romantic later. But now, you need to train so we have more laters in the future.”

And if Sylvain felt as if he was floating before, he feels as if he ascends past the atmosphere seconds after the words leave Felix’s mouth.

He’s looking forward to however many laters they would have. He’s looking forward to the future, murky and uncertain as it may be. Because he’s finally found something worth looking forward to.

And he supposes that’s just one more of the many benefits to sparring. 

**Author's Note:**

> was rlly tempted to call this fic "sylvain goes to horny jail" but a lot more happens than that soooooo
> 
> Twitter: peachh_boy  
> Tumblr: peachh-boy
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated :>


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